


GerIta Oneshots

by eastern_westward_home (orphan_account), WalkingSinLord



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Dark, M/M, WW2, light fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/eastern_westward_home, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingSinLord/pseuds/WalkingSinLord
Summary: The title says it all-
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. To Reality (revised)

A/N please note that this was originally posted on Wattpad by TheWalkingMemeLord. I asked if I could beta, and he agreed, so here we are! Some things have been changed from the original fic. -Jessamine

Italy blinked, suddenly waking from a terrible nightmare. 

_ Wh-where am I?  _ he thought. 

Still drowsy, he rose from his position (he had been lying down) and looked around himself. Suddenly, he realized where he was. He was in a poshly decorated room, but there was something about the aura of the room that seemed off. It was as if the very air was pressing down on him, the walls covered in fancy wallpaper caving in on him. Before he could stop himself, he whimpered. 

_ Where are you, Germany?  _

Slowly, he turned a full circle, taking in the room. Italy realized that the room, though fancy, was not as it had first seemed. There were blood stains on the carpet to his left. In front of him, a door, once painted white, but now, it was covered in bloody handprints. And behind him… 

Italy gasped when he saw Germany, lying on his side, curled up like a baby fawn, blood pooling around him. There was a knife beside him, and his throat had been slit. His face was peaceful, but his eyes were open, and he looked wistful, as if there was something he had wanted to do, but had not been able to get done.

“Germany!” cried Italy. He fell to his knees and cradled the blonde’s head to his chest. He started crying, from the shock of waking up in a strange room, to the unimaginable horror of seeing his best friend lying dead on the floor. “G-germany,” he sobbed again, clinging to Germany’s limp, lifeless body. “Y-you promised you would not leave me-”

He sat there, tears waterfalling down his cheeks, spilling over onto Germany’s uniform. Finally, when he felt as if he could not cry any more, he gently kissed Germany’s cold forehead and let go of him. Before he rose to his feet, he reached out and closed Germany’s eyes. 

_ He looks so peaceful,  _ Italy thought.  _ Like he is sleeping. _

With a heavy heart, he stood, stumbled out of the door. Italy wound through the maze of hallways and staircases and rooms. He tried to avoid the rooms- every room that he entered had a body in it, a body that used to be his friend. Eventually, after what seemed like an eon of wandering aimlessly, he found his way to the front door. He gazed at the door for a second, and then cautiously opened it. It was raining outside, dark storm clouds looming over the mansion, but it seemed fitting.

_ I wish… I wish I could turn back time… _

_ ~Flashback to the events prior to his waking in the strange room~ _

_ It had been a relatively quiet evening, and all the countries had gathered in Russia’s roomy mansion for a dinner party where each person brought their own food. Italy, of course, had brought pasta. Germany had brought potatoes and wurst. Canada had brought poutine, and England… well, England brought Yorkshire pudding, but it was so badly scorched that it was barely recognizable as being edible.  _

_ Italy did not even think it  _ was _ edible.  _

_ Anyway, everything had gone as planned, until they all got a  _ little _ too drunk. Italy remembered passing out on the floor, Germany telling him that he would not leave him.  _

_ What happened after that was a mystery to Italy.  _

Italy sighed and stepped out into the rain. It splattered against his hair and his shoulders, against the ground, his boots, his pants. He‌ shoved his hands inside his pockets, scuffing his boots against the ground.

_ I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could turn back- _

Italy tripped on a rock that he had not seen and went sprawling. He lay there for a minute, catching his breath, feeling the rain soak into his clothes and the cold into his bones. 

He hiccoughed, and rose unsteadily to his feet. 

_ Oh Germany. I miss you. _

He wondered what had happened after he had fallen unconscious. Then he decided that what he did not know would not hurt him, and a smile crept onto his face as an idea popped into his head. It was a simple plan, really. So simple he did not know why he had been wasting time wishing that he could have turned back time. 

_ Germany, I will join you- _

Italy turned around and ran as fast as he could back into the mansion. He found the room he was looking for quickly. He knelt down, and snatching up the knife beside Germany’s body, he raised the knife over his heart. He pushed gently, and gasped in pain when it nicked his flesh. Italy glanced back at Germany, and his brow furrowed in concentration. 

_ Just a little bit of pain, and then it will be over and I will be with Germany,  _ he reminded himself.

He took a deep breath, and, before his traitorous mind could come up with an excuse for him to throw the knife away, he drove it into his chest.

Italy cried out in pain as the knife entered his body.

_ Why does… dying hurt so badly?  _ he wondered, pulling the knife out and tossing it to the ground beside him. He curled up beside Germany, nuzzling his face into Germany’s hair, breathing in the scent of Germany - wurst and potato, and alcohol and the slightly smoky smell that was left behind when he fired his gun- and waited for the darkness to come and the pain to leave. For the last time, Italy closed his eyes. 

_ Soon… Germany… I am almost there… I am almost- _

~The end~ 


	2. It was... just a dream? (revised)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some Gerita fluff :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was also originally posted on Wattpad by TheWalkingMemeLord.

Italy had phoned Germany again, asking if he could visit him. Germany had not been able to say no, especially since Italy’s voice had trembled as he had talked, as if he was going to burst into tears at any second. Ten minutes later, there was a quiet knock at Germany’s door. 

Germany opened the door, and was nearly knocked over as Italy ran up to him, wrapping his arms around the taller man in a passionate bear hug. 

“Are you okay?” asked Germany, once he had regained his footing.

Italy looked up, tears in his eyes. "Oh, Germany! It was h-horrible! I had a r-really scary n-nightmare! Ev-everyone was dead and it was all my f-f-fault! They were s-surrounding me too! And-and- they had no faces- and-" 

"Italy! Italy! Listen! No one ist dead alright?" said Germany, pulling away from the smaller country to look at him in the eyes. 

"B-but Germany, it felt s-so r-real!” Italy whimpered and continued to tell Germany his dream. 

"Everyting is alright, Italy. You von't need to vorry about zat anymore ok?" Germany said soothingly, although inwardly concerned about Italy's dream.

Italy sniffed loudly. “O-okay.”

“Vere, come in,” Germany said, ushering Italy into the house. Italy was very happy to be back, though he stayed close to German, venturing from his side only to make pasta. 

Italy stirred the pasta, his eyes narrowed in concentration, lips pursed as he stared into the pasta sauce’s red depths. Then he turned to Germany. “G-germany?” he asked. “If I told you to run… would you?”

Germany frowned. “Ist dis about zat dream you had?”

“Ve,” replied Italy, looking back at the pasta. 

“Nein. I vould not run, because I have to protect you,” Germany said, leaning back against the countertop. 

Italy smiled, but sadly. Germany felt a pang of concern towards the brunette. 

_ The dream must have been beyond terrifying,  _ he thought,  _ to make Italy like this. _

Once the pasta was done, Italy spooned a generous amount into two bowls, one for him, one for Germany.

They ate quickly, without much of their usual banter. As soon as they had finished, Germany washed the dishes while Italy put away the supplies he had used to make the pasta.

Germany showed Italy to the door. Italy was about to leave, when he turned around. 

“G-germany?” he asked.

“Yes, Italy?” said Germany, handing Italy his coat.

“Can- can you walk me home?”

“Of course,” replied Germany, pulling on his own coat.

The two countries began to walk towards Italy’s house. They had just walked around the corner of the road when they heard someone yell, “hello!”

Italy turned around, saw Japan, and smiled. “Ciao, Japan!” 

He hesitantly let go of Germany’s hand (which he had been clutching as if it was the only thing grounding him to reality) and then dashed up to his friend. They hugged, Italy clinging to him a bit longer than normal.

Japan looked past Italy to Germany, and then said, “there’s a world meeting tomorrow, thought you should know.”

Germany nodded. “Italy, we should get ready.”

Italy beamed, bouncing onto the balls of his feet in excitement. “Perfect!” he squealed. 

This confused both Japan and Germany. 

“You usually do not vant to go to vese meetings because vey are ‘boring’,” said Germany.

A faint frown creased Italy’s face, but then he brightened. He said, "I just miss everyone." 

Japan shrugged. “Well, I have to go prepare, I shall see you tomorrow,” he said, waving. 

“Ciao,” Italy said, waving back.

Germany and Italy walked back to Italy’s house.

“Thank you for walking me home,” said Italy, rising to his tip-toes to give Germany a not-as-quick-as-normal peck on either cheek. 

Germany blushed. “Oh- it vas no problem.”

Italy beamed at him, and unlocked the door. 

“See you tomorrow,” said Germany. 

“Ve~” replied Italy. 

Germany was happy to see Italy looking much happier than he had earlier. Italy disappeared into his home, and Germany began to walk back to his house.

After he had showered and brushed his teeth, Italy clambered into his bed. 

_ It was just a dream,  _ he thought.  _ I will see everyone tomorrow. No one is dead. _

And so, repeating this thought, Italy went to sleep. 

  
  


_ ~The next day at the meeting~ _

  
  


As normal, mostly everyone was bickering and yelling (except for Canada, who had started singing/shouting his national anthem as loudly as he could in a failing effort to be noticed) but the clamour died down almost instantly when Italy barreled through the door and ran straight into Russia, squeezing him so hard that Russia was a wheezing mess by the time Italy was done.

“Italy! Vat was zat for?" asked Germany. Then he wondered if Italy’s sudden hugging craze had been brought on by the nightmare he had had the night before. “Italy, are you okay?” 

Italy ignored him, instead going around and hugging everyone he could, including Canada, who was very pleased that someone had finally noticed him. 

"Italy, why did you do that?" asked Russia, glaring daggers at him.

Italy shrugged. “I just missed everyone, okay?”

Germany sighed sadly, knowing what he meant by that. “Did you have dat nightmare again?” 

Italy nodded, looking away.

“Vell, now you can see for yourself, everyone ist here and vell,” Germany said, rubbing Italy’s back soothingly.

Italy felt a sudden overwhelming rush of something dangerously similar to love surge up in him. He turned to Germany, and, grabbing the front of Germany’s uniform, pulled Germany into a brief kiss. 

Startled by what he had done, he blushed furiously and tried to scramble away, but to his surprise, Germany grabbed him and kissed him back.

The other countries watched in stunned silence. 

Germany turned to them, his eyes narrowed. “Ve have a world meeting,” he said. “And ve” -by this, he meant himself and Italy- “vill talk about this later.”

Then, hauling Italy behind him, he plopped down on his chair, sat Italy down in his, and began to wait for the meeting to start. 

~the end~


	3. Part 1 of Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is by me, Jessamine. Hope you enjoy...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nazi!Germany and Victim!North Italy.

World War 1 had ended, and Germany had suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the Allies. Ever since then, he had been… different.

Italy had watched him break. He had watched him turn from a kind and loving nation to a plotting, vengeful one. 

…

It was the middle World War 2, and Italy wondered if Germany was not a nation, but a monster. Indeed, Germany was only a ghost of the nation he had once been, an illusion.

_ But then again,  _ thought Italy,  _ illusions can be very dangerous. _

Of course, when Germany had asked Italy to join him, Italy had agreed, out of love, but he had loved a different Germany. He had not known what Germany had become at the time. 

_ Hopefully, if Germany won the war, he would return to being the Germany that I used to love.  _ Italy snorted. This was a fantasy that he had known to be false, he had known since the end of the first world war, but he still clung to it.  _ How foolish of me.  _

He allowed a small smile to grace his lips. 

…

Italy stumbled behind Germany, casting nervous glances over his shoulder at the poor inhabitants of the concentration camp. Snow fluttered around them, gathering in small drifts here and there. A woman handed her starving child the rest of her rations. 

“Germany-” he began.

Germany looked back at him and scowled. “Vhat?” he asked.

“Well- I- those people- surely you w-would not be so cr-cruel as to not let them c-ca-carry on like this?” stammered Italy, shrinking back from Germany’s cold gaze.

Germany’s gaze softened. “Of course not,” he said soothingly. 

Italy smiled.  _ Maybe I was wrong about Germany- _

Suddenly Germany pulled out his revolver, and blasted a hole into a starving child’s head. Then he shot the mother. 

“See, Italy? I am not cruel. I let sem die together,” said Germany, smirking slightly at Italy’s frightened face. 

Italy stared at the blood seeping into the snow, staining the once pure white an ugly, thick, dark red. His stomach churning, he hastily looked away.

“Come,” Germany commanded, marching away.

Germany’s heartless bloodshed made Italy want to vomit.

_ Not a nation,  _ he thought as he hurried behind Germany,  _ but a monster. _


	4. Part 2 of Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (Jess) wasn't super happy with the ending of this fic, and we considered adding another chapter, but in the end, we just let the ending be.  
> Also, I would like to take the time to formally apologize for totally butchering Germany's accent. Seriously guys, I'm sorry. You may notice further on that we all but abandon his accent except for the 'w' sound turning into a 'v' sound.

Italy sat in the canvas tent beside Germany. It was dark outside, but the soft candlelight lit up the inside of the tent quite nicely. Italy could hear the wind howling.

He barely dared to breathe, for fear of inciting Germany’s wrath - or even worse - his passion. Germany had grown increasingly violent with the increasing numbers of battles he had won. 

_ He needs to be taken down a notch,  _ Italy thought. Then he hung his head, for he was much too scared of Germany to do such a thing himself. 

“Vhy the long face?” asked Germany, looking over at Italy with an expression of concern at him. 

Italy swallowed hard and looked away. “N-nothing, Germany.”

_ I hate it when he pretends to care.  _ “It’s okay, I’m okay.”  _ Because when he does, I always fall for it.  _

Germany scooched over to Italy and casually tossed his arm around Italy’s shoulder, either not knowing or not caring when the smaller country stiffened at the sudden contact. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Germany crooned, brushing Italy’s hair out of his eyes. “I von’t hurt you.”

_ You already have. _

There was so much that Italy wanted to say to Germany. He wanted to scream in Germany’s face, shake him, make him see, make him  _ understand  _ the heartache and death he had caused. Instead, he only nodded dumly, mutely. 

Italy had given up on getting the old Germany back. He knew in his heart that Germany would never be the same after the war. He could only hope that Germany lost the war. Of course, he could never side with the Allies, not now, not ever. 

If he did… the consequences of that were too horrible for him to think about. 

Germany pulled Italy into a passionate kiss. Italy flinched and tried to push him away, but Germany only chuckled and drew Italy in closer. 

When Germany started to pull off Italy’s shirt, Italy jerked away and slapped him.

A sudden wave of horror overcame him as Germany’s eyes narrowed. Germany gingerly lifted a hand to touch the red handprint on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Germany!” cried Italy, even though he was not. In fact, he felt a bit elated at having finally pushed back against Germany’s advances, although his sudden rush of satisfaction was soon quelled when he saw Germany’s enraged glare. “I don’t know what-”

Germany just scoffed. “Oh, _ please _ . You really tink I don't know?”

“Know what?” whispered Italy, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Germany leaned closer to Italy, put his lips next to Italy’s ear.

Italy forced himself to not flinch away.

“Zat you tink I’m a monster,” Germany murmured. 

“I- I never thought that-” stammered Italy.

"I see the vay you act tovards me,” Germany crooned, gently stroking Italy’s bangs out of his chocolate brown eyes. “Nothing you do escapes me, Italy.” 

~the end~


End file.
